


Homesick

by gaykavinsky (lesbiankavinsky)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, here's some soft boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9013306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiankavinsky/pseuds/gaykavinsky
Summary: Fill for a prompt from tumblr sent by nursey-patrol: librarian/avid reader au





	

As far as work/study jobs go, the library is a pretty nice gig. Adam would far rather be here than in the cafeteria or with the grounds crew. Besides, he would spend most of his time in the library even if he weren’t working. He loves his dorm room for being his own, but it’s tiny and never the right temperature and the walls are thin enough that he’s almost constantly overhearing his neighbors having parties or sex. The library is comfortable and quiet, and he’s getting paid to be here. All in all, pretty lucky. Besides, as much as he hates his accent, he’s been told that his slow and lilting voice is quite soothing, and frantic students in the library during finals period could always use a little soothing, even if it is rural and Virginian.

The one thing Adam doesn’t like about his job is having to help entitled rich kids find books. He’s happy to fetch books from the stacks that only library workers are allowed in. He’s delighted to go on treasure hunts for items that have been put back in the wrong place and that someone with an intimate knowledge of the cataloguing system is much more likely to find. And he loves accompanying faculty kids to the corner of the library dedicated to children’s books and finding what it is they’re looking. But then there are the bored sophomores who, he swears, actually  _ smell  _ like money who can’t be bothered to get their own damn books. 

So he’s none too pleased when he sees a boy in a hideously bright polo shirt and boat shoes (boat shoes? In November? Really?) approaching his desk. 

“Hey,” the boy says, and Adam feels an unexpected tug of something like homesickness. The boy is Virginian. Rich, so really they sound nothing alike, but it still makes Adam strangely nostalgic. The boy props his elbows up the counter and leans close to Adam. “What do you know about dead Welsh kings?”

Adam doesn’t like being caught unprepared for this kind of question. He rubs at his temple. “I know a little about the dynastic feuds of the tenth century. And about Llywelyn and the Magna Carta.”   


“And about Glyndwr?” 

Adam smiles. “I thought you asked about dead Welsh kings. As far as I know, the jury’s still out on whether or not Glyndwr is actually dead?”

This response elicits an enormous grin from the boy. “I like you,” he says, pulling a little tin from his pocket and popping it open to remove a mint leaf, which he places on his tongue. “I’m doing research,” he says. Then, with a conspiratorial glance around which Adam refuses to find endearing, he leans in and says, “not of an entirely academic variety. It’s more for a treasure hunt than a term paper, if you know what I mean.”

Adam isn’t sure he does know what the boy means, but he nods anyway. The boy extends a hand. “Richard Gansey, but you can just call me Gansey. I think you might be able to help me.”

The wording makes Adam cringe a little, but the way Gansey says it,  _ you might be able to help me  _ sounds less entitled and more -- what is it? Trusting. He means  _ you might be able to help me  _ as a compliment, because most would be unable. 

That afternoon, when Adam gets off work, the two of them spend hours in the stacks, pulling any book that seems relevant to Gansey’s quest -- though Gansey, looking over Adam’s shoulder, often remarks, “read that already,” sparing Adam the trouble of having to put the volume in question back. 

“Seems like you’ve read most things,” Adam says, and Gansey laughs.

“Oh, I’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg.”

It grows easily enough into habit: after Adam finishes up at work, he and Gansey go together to Adam’s tiny room and huddle together on his bed, Adam doing homework and Gansey reading, usually about Welsh history but occasionally about the image of the angel in art history or about Arabic poetry or about things obscure enough that Adam had never heard of them. 

“What language is that,” Adam asks one day, peering at the book in Gansey’s hand. 

“Sanskrit.”

“Polyglot weirdo.”

“You sound like my friend from home,” Gansey says, settling back against Adam’s pillows. “Except I don’t think he knows the word polyglot. I think you’d want to deck him in the face within five minutes if you met.”

“I thought I was going to want to deck you in the face before I met you.”

“I bet you did,” Gansey says, not looking up from his book. “At least just a little.”

“Maybe."

“My friend from home,” Gansey goes on, still not looking up, “He’s a sort of an ex.”

That gets Adam’s attention. Quietly, he closes his book and sets it on his lap. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gansey says, face out of view behind the beaten leather cover of his book. Adam sincerely doubts he’s still reading at this point. Now he’s just hiding. “I mean, we were never anything official. But we were -- something. I mean, we’re still friends. I think we’ll always be friends. He’s the sort of person -- he’s a bit like a dog, you know? The kind that will follow you around, up mountains and into valleys, through fire, because you’re their person.”

“And you’re his person?”   


“Yeah.”

“Should I tell you not to break his heart?”

At last, Gansey sets down the book and sits up to look at Adam, an earnest expression on his face as though they’ve been dancing around this for months. Adam had only realized they were dancing around it a few minutes ago. “Oh,” Gansey says, “I don’t think breaking his heart is a danger. The reason we were never anything official was -- it wasn’t meant to be him and me. We’re something different than that to each other.” 

“And you and me?” Adam asks. He isn’t sure how they got there. He isn’t sure why he’s so short of breath all of a sudden. You’re supposed to know when you like someone, right? You’re supposed to know when you want to kiss them. But here he is, lightheaded and watching Gansey’s mouth. 

“What I was trying to say,” Gansey says, leaning ever so slightly forward, “is that you wouldn’t have to worry about breaking his heart if you kissed me.” He sounds a bit breathless himself, which makes Adam feel a little less at sea.

“Okay,” Adam says. 

As it turns out, kissing Gansey is easy. Adam’s hand seems to fit perfectly around the corner of his jaw and he realizes now how close they were sitting. There’s nothing frightening about it at all; it’s like coming home. Maybe that’s why Gansey’s voice in the library had made him homesick that first day. It’s weeks later when Adam tells him that. Gansey, always ready to be outraged on Adam’s behalf and perpetually distraught by the fact that he doesn’t have a place to call home, tucks his face against Adam’s neck and says, “you know, you can always come home to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Angie for proofing!


End file.
